The Woman With No Name
by Dominican Girl
Summary: This is just a little Castle drabble idea I ran with. As of now, there is no intention of making this into a full blown story. Enjoy.
1. Beckett and Espo Interrogate An Assassin

**A/N: This drabble is not something that follows any season or episode, although it's definitely after season 5. It's just an idea I had that I ran with. That being said, enjoy.**

**As usual, nothing about Castle belongs to me.**

**If you want more Castle, feel free to follow my blog on tumblr dedicated to it (url: youre-watching-castle).**

**-DG**

* * *

"And you're _sure _that _this_ is the woman responsible for all these hits?" Esposito asked quietly, gazing through the window of the interrogation room. Ryan stood on his right, while Beckett and Castle filled in on his left.

"That's what the files said," Beckett murmured. "And there were a lot of files."

"Yeah," Ryan shifted closer to Esposito. "Apparently there was this one hit where the guy they were after had already killed _fifteen_ assassins the family'd sent after him. So word got out that they needed to hire someone outside the family, and she shows up."

Esposito gave him a dubious look, but Ryan pressed on. "No, really. She shows up out of nowhere, and says she'll have him dead by the next day."

Castle, who'd been watching the small woman pace around the room, cut in. "And did she?"

Ryan was somber. "Yeah. Turns out the guy had barricaded himself in his house after the last attack, guards posted around every entrance and at every window; guy probably didn't even take a piss alone. It was supposed to be infallible."

Now Castle pulled his eyes from the window and looked at Ryan. "'Supposed to be'?"

"Yeah. They found him the next morning in his room, blood everywhere."

Castle was completely taken in now, and had turned his full attention to him. He could feel Beckett's grim amusement beside him. "What happened?"

Ryan's eyes never left the woman. "She'd ripped him in half from head to toe."

Now Beckett's eyes flicked to him to see his reaction, but he barely noticed. "How did she even get in with guards posted everywhere?"

Ryan shook his head slightly, turning to Castle. "No one knows. She got past every single guard and killed him in the middle of the night. They found him the next morning. He'd been dead for hours."

Castle swallowed hard. "If she did that, how has she never been arrested? How have you not caught her for that, or something else?"

Espo took up the role of informant now. "Because we've never been able to prove she did it. No one has. We can't catch her. She's too good."

Castle's brow furrowed, and he glanced at the woman again. "Then how do you know she did it?"

A hard note crept into Ryan's voice. "Oh, we know she did it. We may not have enough evidence to prove it, but we know she did." A reluctant note of admiration entered. "But most of the guys she's killed were guys that needed to be taken off the streets anyway."

"Then why go after her if she's doing some good?"

Beckett's voice was hard and unforgiving. "Because she's still a murderer, no matter how honorable her intentions are."

Sobered, they turned to the window, and all but Beckett jumped when they saw that the woman had stopped her pacing and was staring at them.

She was small with a lean figure and shoulder-length dark brown hair. She looked as if she couldn't be more than 20 with her youthful face and big, expressive amber eyes that did not waver as the boys took a small unconscious step back.

Beckett, who'd stayed where she was, kept her eyes on the woman. "Come on, Castle. Let's see if she's all she's cracked up to be." She started for the door to the room but turned around when she didn't feel his familiar presence looming behind her. "Castle?" she queried, an eyebrow raised. Then understanding dawned on her face, and slight amusement slid over it. "Don't tell me you're afraid."

Castle looked at her, eyes slightly wide. "She tore a man in half without anyone seeing her. _Anyone,_" He emphasized. She rolled her eyes.

"Ryan?"

Ryan had been looking into the interrogation room with no small amount of trepidation and wariness, and his gaze snapped to Beckett when she called his name. "Mm? Oh, no way."

Espo scoffed and walked over to Beckett. "_I'll_ go in with you." He said, casting derisive looks at his partner and Castle. "I ain't afraid of no little girl."

Beckett seemed to be trying to fight a smile and was failing. "_Thank you_Esposito." She turned an amused gaze on Castle. "At least _someone_ here has some attempt at bravery."

Castle looked indignant. "A healthy sense of fear doesn't mean I'm not brave. It makes me sensible." Now he leveled his intense blue-eyed gaze on her. "And if you were sensible, you'd be afraid, too." Ryan nodded in agreement.

Rather than chastened, Beckett was amused. "Right," she said, and opened the door. Espo followed her in, giving them disappointed looks over his shoulder.

Castle frowned at him, contemplating sticking his tongue out at him, and then followed Ryan into the room next door so they could watch.

* * *

The woman had taken up pacing again but froze and turned when they entered. Her eyes watched them, calculating and interested, her body language similar to that of a cat whose tail tip was twitching.

"Take a seat." Beckett motioned to the lone chair on the other side of the table, and she and Espo sat down. The woman moved gracefully up to the table, her eyes unblinking and flicking with unsettling laziness from one of them to the other. She sat down with an eerie grace, her face completely blank, amber eyes ever fixed on them. Beckett glanced at the files and notes before her.

"Says here that you've gone by several different names," she prompted, allowing a small amount of sarcasm to enter her voice. "For some reason, we've never been able to track down your real one." She gazed at the woman. "You wanna tell me what it is?"

"Not particularly." Her voice enhanced the cat-like vibe she gave off. It was almost a purr, and sounded how Beckett imagined a cat might if it could speak: with equal parts smugness and satisfaction. "But you can call me—"

"What, Josephine? Carla? Odette? Maya?" Beckett snapped, listing some of her aliases. The woman didn't even look like any of these names; they'd clearly just been something of convenience rather than actual thought. The only one that seemed like it might fit her was Maya, and even that was a stretch.

The woman didn't blink. If she was annoyed that she'd been cut off, it didn't show. "Katie."

She felt Espo stiffen beside her, but she kept calm, though she felt her lips thin slightly.

Fine. She could play this game.

She plucked an 8x10 picture of the victim out of her folder: a large man who, at his full height, was about 6'3", heavy set, with prominent features, and a cruel mouth. He was also nearly unrecognizable in the photo, due to the amount of blood covering him, the floor beneath him, and his destroyed body. She turned it around and slid it in front of the woman. "Do you know this man?"

The woman—or _Katie_, as she'd apparently liked to be called for their interrogation—hadn't shown any real emotion since they'd brought her in, but now her face contorted into such a vicious snarl, Beckett half expected her to growl.

"I take it you do know him," Beckett quipped with a small amount of satisfaction.

Instead of shoving it away like Beckett thought she might, Katie snatched it off the table, holding it up in front of her face, a look of intense rage and hatred smeared over her features. "No." It was so low it sounded like a growl. "No, no, no, no, NO!" She slammed the picture down on the table with so much force it shook.

Espo flattened his palms on the table, his face taking on the no-nonsense mask he used for situations like this. "I'm gonna ask you to control yourself, or I'm gonna introduce you to a pair of bracelets that will help you to." He voice was low and controlled, but held the unmistakable air of a threat.

Katie's eyes burned into him. "I'd like to see you try." She gritted from clenched teeth, but she seemed to reign herself in, and once more the calm blankness settled over her face, though her eyes burned with hatred.

"What's his name?" Beckett prompted. "We found a wallet on him at the scene that says his name's Joshua Barenson, but I don't think it is."

Katie cocked her head to the side, eyeing her with a calculating gaze, and again Beckett was reminded of a cat. "What makes you think that's not his name?" The purr was back, all evidence of her outburst erased.

Beckett leveled her gaze at her. "Because we found several credit cards with different names on them, none of which match up with or were registered to the name on his license. But you clearly know who he is, so why don't you tell me his name?"

Katie eyed her steadily. "What lead you to come look for me?"

Beckett stifled her growing frustration, willing her face to remain blank. She could feel irritation rolling of Espo beside her, and knew that one of them had to maintain composure. That was the only way to win games like this.

"We found a scrap of paper in his coat pocket with your name on it."

"Which name?" Katie inquired in a politely interested voice, and though her face did not change, Beckett could swear she looked amused.

She sat back in her chair, doing her best to seem bored. "Bianca."

Katie tilted her head. "I see. And what made you think that that was me?"

Beckett didn't bother trying to hide her satisfaction. "We had a witness who says he saw you around the area where Joshua was killed."

Her head stayed tilted. "A witness," she said thoughtfully.

Beckett caught the note in her voice. "I wouldn't bother going after them," she said, leaning forward. "You'll never find them."

Katie's eyes glittered dangerously. "If it serves me to find them, I will. Besides," She leveled her gaze. "You've already told me it was a man."

Beckett went over what she'd said and then cursed herself for her mistake. She saw the amusement in the woman's eyes; there was a remarkably dangerous air about her for someone so small and innocent looking.

"But that's not important." Katie said dismissively. Beckett's hackles rose.

"You don't think threatening a man's life is important?" She demanded.

"Not really." Katie responded indifferently. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Besides, I was under the impression that the important thing here was finding out this man's name. Isn't that why you brought me here?" Something she said seemed to amuse her, but Beckett couldn't find anything funny about it.

"So you do know his real name."

"Yes."

Beckett and Espo waited.

When Katie remained silent, Espo leaned forward. "I thought you said you knew his name." he growled irritably.

Katie smiled, and somehow that was more unsettling than her snarl. "I do know his name."

"Then why haven't you told us?"

If possible, her grin got wider. A sliver of unease slipped down Beckett's spine. "You didn't ask me if I would tell you, you only asked me if I knew it. That's not the same thing."

Espo huffed, and she could practically hear him grinding his teeth. "Fine. _Will_ you tell us his name?"

"Yes."

They waited another moment before Beckett rolled her eyes. "What's his name?" she snapped.

Katie's mouth slid into a smirk. "Someone with sense." Her eyes hardened again. "George Bryson."

Now they were getting somewhere. Beckett rested her elbows on the table, glad that the preliminaries were over. "And what's he done that's got you so angry?"

Katie's lip curled, hatred and animosity rolling off of her in waves. "He was murdered."

"And why does that make you angry?" Espo asked for both of them. His confusion was nearly as palpable as the rage coming from Katie. "The way you're acting, I would think you'd be happy he was dead."

The briefest snarl stole across her face. "I would be if I'd been the one to kill him."

Beckett and Espo traded a look. She leaned forward. "You didn't kill him?"

"No." Katie bit the word off.

"But you were going to," Espo prodded.

Katie stared at him for a long moment, and Beckett felt his unease as he shifted slightly. Seeing his discomfort seemed to please her, and Katie shifted her gaze over to Beckett.

"Why were you going to kill him?" Beckett asked, interlacing her fingers over her notes. The anger in Katie's eyes had been burning low like coals in a fire, but now it erupted again.

Her voice was cold and filled to the brim with hate. "He was one of those people that _deserves_ to die, who should never have been born, one of those people that should die the most painful, torturous, drawn-out death possible." She said the last part with relish, and Beckett lost any doubt she might have had about this woman being an assassin.

"And you were going to give it to him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Katie said, and her eyes took on a gleam of feral joy. "He would have wept and _begged_ _me_ to end his life by the time I was finished, and I would have only drawn it out longer." She sat back with a disturbing amount of satisfaction.

Beckett wanted to turn and look at Espo, to see if some of the blood had drained out of his face too from hearing the assassin talk about torture the way she did, but she didn't dare. Nothing about the woman's manner said she was bluffing.

"Would you really have gone that far?" She asked instead. She felt slight tremors enter her hands and clutched her fingers tighter.

"All that and more," Katie crooned. "It's a shame I didn't get a chance to." She examined the nails on her left hand and flexed her fingers the way a cat might its claws.

She felt rather than saw Espo swallow hard.

"Where were you the night he was murdered?" Beckett asked, unlacing her clenched fingers to pick up her pen.

Katie looked bored. "No where I can prove." She eyed Beckett lazily. "But obviously I didn't kill him. You wouldn't have found him."

"Right," Beckett looked at her note pad and scribbled something down. "So if you can't prove you weren't anywhere near him except to say that we wouldn't have found him, how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't." Katie purred. "It is the nature of my work that I am never seen nor heard, and that the playthings don't know they're being hunted."

"You mean prey?"

"Prey implies that there is a chance of escape, of survival. Calling them a plaything means it's only a matter of time before I corner them. None of my targets ever escape."

"Except George Bryson." Beckett said wryly. "Someone got to him before you did."

"And for that they will pay." Katie responded calmly. "You do not take another hunter's quarry."

"So, what, murderers are calling dibs now?"

"You seem awfully curious, Detective." It was the first time Katie had used the title, but it was apparent that she used it as an insult. "Trying to see if you have a taste for blood?"

Beckett didn't honor that with an answer, but a chill swept over her.

"I see I've hit a nerve," Katie observed, smirking.

Beckett ignored her, taking the large photo of he victim and putting it into her folder.

"Is there nothing else?" Katie asked, her voice carefully polite.

"Why? Do you have somewhere to be?" The question came out sharper than she intended.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Katie said, standing. She pushed in her chair. "A very pressing matter that I'm afraid can't wait." She started for the door.

"I didn't say you could leave," Beckett retorted, standing as well.

Katie looked unperturbed. "Are you restraining me, Detective?" There it was again, that sneer.

"Yes."

"I see. Do you have any evidence to keep me in holding?"

"No," Beckett said through gritted teeth.

Katie adopted a mockingly disappointed face. "A pity. Well then, I suppose I'll be on my way." She gave Beckett a once-over and then turned and opened the door.

"Wait," Beckett called out. Katie turned around, eyeing her with detached curiosity.

"Yes?"

"What was it that was so funny? When you asked why I'd brought you here?"

Katie let out a low chuckle that sent shivers racing up Beckett's spine. She looked Beckett dead in the eye. "You brought me in because I _allowed_ you to. Never forget that."

"I won't."

Katie looked from her to Espo. "Good day, Detectives." And she was gone.

* * *

"You alright, Espo?" Beckett asked, bringing him a cup of coffee. Espo took it without looking at her.

"Yeah. Fine."

"You don't look fine," Castle put in. "You look white as a sheet." Seeing the unappreciative look on Espo's face, he amended himself. "Well, as white you can look, anyway."

Beckett rolled her eyes and turned to Esposito. "You sure you're okay?" She searched his face. "You can't let her get to you like that."

"She didn't get to me." Espo muttered, putting down his untouched cup.

"Yeah right," Ryan said, propping his chin on one hand. "You should've seen your face when you came out of that room." His voice was gently teasing, but Espo was shaking his head.

"I just mean she's dangerous. Like, she's the person every bad guy has nightmares about."

"And the good guys, too." Castle murmured. His gaze was somewhere far away, so he didn't see the look Espo threw him.

"You think she killed George?" Ryan asked no one in particular.

Beckett shook her head. "No, it wasn't her. I believe her when she says we would never have found him if she did, but I don't doubt that she's connected to our killer." Her eyes went to the murder board. "We just have to figure out how."

They were all silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

Then Castle spoke.

"You think she'd let me base a character off her for my next novel?"


	2. An Insight Into The Assassin

**A/N: Hey, all. So I decided to run a little further with this. Chris C., you were right, it _did_ somewhat demand to be written (although if I'm honest with myself, I have a whole almost-story planned out in my head). I can't promise that it will be updated with any kind of frequency, mostly because I suck with deadlines and I can't focus on most occasions to save my life, but I will try to write and get them up and out when it does strike me. **

**All that to say, here's a little tidbit. Enjoy.**

* * *

She preferred nights as her favorite part of a day. Just after midnight, that perfect time between late night and early morning, when everything felt new and full of possibility, and also when most people were asleep. The majority of the people who followed her… craft… were also people of the night. But then, anyone who was any good at their job didn't need the night, realized that, in point of fact, the _day_ time was better for assassinations due to the fact that life was so wonderfully crowded and people were equally wonderfully oblivious.

But even knowing all of that, she liked nights the best out of any time of day, simply because it made her feel like she could leave this life behind whenever she wanted to, as if she had only to decide during that golden time that _this_ would be her last mission. _This_ would be the last murder. _This_ would be the last time she went by any other name but her own. But every night, she watched those perfect few hours slowly drift away, and the next day dawned with her washing the blood off of her knives, or dropping the body into a watery grave, or arranging everything just so for the unfortunate soul who would end up taking the fall.

Because all of it was necessary.

For as long as she could remember, there had been a need to defend, to protect, to fight. She was sure there must have been a time when that wasn't necessary (after all, no infant came into the world killing), but those memories were gone or nonexistent; her world had always been about learning the next technique to stop a heart, the next lesson on how to turn anything into a weapon, the next example of how best to manipulate people, the next way to turn her into a more lethal assassin.

And she was damn good at it.

Her small size and youthful face worked to her advantage. People never suspected the girl who looked no taller than a child and was so shy and sweet. How could she ever hurt anybody? She was such a nice girl, so kind and helpful. No way was she capable of murder.

Really, she was almost _too_ good; sometimes she believed the lies herself.


	3. Murder Tidbit

**A/N: Hey, guys. So I had an anon on tumblr ask me if I was ever going to expand on this drabble more, or if there was more coming, which prompted this little tidbit.**

**Enjoy the little murder insight.**

**-DG**

* * *

Really, he should have seen this coming. All the signs where there, and they were painfully obvious in their deliberateness.

The door cracked just an inch further than it usually was. One of the spare keys out of order. The normally-crooked picture of his mother straightened.

In all honesty, he should have known the moment he walked in and his gut began to scream that something was not right, that something was wrong.

It wouldn't have stopped her or saved him in any capacity, but he might have prolonged his life a little longer.

"I knew you would come for me eventually." He said into the quiet.

He heard nothing, but knew she was there, out of sight and listening.

"I appreciate your not running." Her voice was soft and smooth, blooming just behind him. He didn't jump. Somehow he'd known. He swallowed hard and prayed for a calm he didn't feel.

"And to what do I owe this….visit?"

She came around to face him, silent and deadly as a snake. Her amber eyes glinted in the low light of the lamps of his office, dark hair pulled back neatly in a braid. Small in stature, no one would ever think to accuse her of being able to fell a grown man, let alone murder one. Yet here she stood.

He waited.

Her eyes bored into his and nailed him to his seat, drinking in information that only she could see. When it seemed she found what it was she was after, she looked away, and suddenly his lungs worked.

"Are your affairs in order?" She asked, not deigning to answer his question. It didn't matter. He knew the answer.

Folding his hands into his lap, he did his best to seem unperturbed. "They always are, thanks to the social call I received from you not so long ago."

She nodded, a small jerky movement. "Good."

Silence settled between them, and he found himself desperate for a drink. He rose from his chair and made his way over to the liquor cabinet. "Would you…?" he let the question hang in the air as he poured himself a healthy dose of courage. She said nothing, didn't move, and he took that for his answer.

He downed it in two gulps before pouring a second glass and heading back over to his chair. She stood in front of his desk, motionless, eyes taking in everything before her.

He settled himself in his chair and drank from his glass. He licked his lips a few times before pushing himself to look up at her and make eye contact. "So….so how is it to happen?"

She tilted her head. "How did you think it would happen?"

He shrugged, clearing his throat. "I don't know, I….I thought perhaps, what with the way Adams was murdered, and my balcony—"

"I would never repeat a murder." She interrupted.

He blinked, adjusted his collar. "No, no, of course not. That would….ruin a certain quality to your work, I imagine." He looked at her, trying to gauge her response, but her face was blank as ever, her eyes watching him with an unsettling satisfaction.

He took another swig and swirled the remaining liquid in his glass, cleared his throat again. "Will it be bloody?" This time he saw something flicker in her eyes, though he couldn't have said what it was. "What I mean to say is—will my wife—will she—how will I be found?"

She gazed at him for a moment before turning her head away, her face covered in shadow. "She will find you here." Now her eyes met his again. "There won't be blood."

He tried to swallow and failed. "That's…that's good, then."

She raised an eyebrow slightly. "That comforts you? Even when I said nothing about the level of pain?"

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, heart pounding hard in his ears as he nearly choked. He put the glass down a little too hard, and realized that his hands shook. She moved around the desk to stand behind him.

"When?" He wheezed, unable to draw in a breath.

"Now." She murmured, and brought down her elbow with crushing force into the back of his neck.

* * *

She made her way out of the office in silence, padding down the hallway of the mansion and slipping out the kitchen door. The security video would end its loop soon, and revert back to recording the property and the inside of the mansion. She would be long gone by then. She took a deep breath and let it out, and began to run.

Five minutes away, she stopped in a local park and pulled out a red felt pen and the list she kept on her at all times. Her eyes fell to the selected name and she drew a line through it. One down. The list was put away and the pen disappeared.

She ran on.


End file.
